To Tame an ExArmy Doctor
by cleverlittlegingerbatch
Summary: Sherlock is getting on John's nerves and gets his revenge.  Sherlock, however, ends up the upper hand.


"Sherlock for fuck's sake stop bloody pacing." John cries when Sherlock begins his thirty-fifth circuit of the flat. Sherlock's long hands are in his dark curls and he's muttering to himself. With reflexes born of having a sister and of being in the Army, John grabs Sherlock when he comes close to the couch. Since Sherlock is paying little if any attention to his surroundings, the movement catches him by surprise. He lands gracefully in John's lap, long legs on either side of John's shorter ones. The look of shock on his face when he realizes he's straddling John is comical enough that John grunts out a short laugh.

Before he can launch himself back up, John grips both of Sherlock's arms just below the elbow and holds on tightly.

"Shhhh... you're fine. Now. Talk to me. That seems to help you." John soothes. Sherlock's pale eyes are trained on John's, and his manic energy seems to be waning. He's still trembling slightly, but that's to be expected, as the detective hasn't eaten or slept in the past 48 hours, even though John has attempted to get him to do both. Sherlock begins speaking, much too fast at first for John to truly understand, but after a few well-timed questions, Sherlock seems to get his thoughts in order and puts the pieces together logically.

"Who had motive to kill her? Who had opportunity?" Sherlock muses softly.

John's cock twitches.

Oh no. No no no. This can't - shit. Not now, not when he seems to actually be doing something useful. But that deep, smoky voice continues and John can't help it. His cock begins to stiffen, listening to Sherlock talk about bloody axes and dead writers in closets. That can't possibly be a good sign.

"John..." The man in question starts when the voice speaks directly into his ear. He shivers. Then a tongue, soft and wet, delicately traces the outer edge of cartilage and he moans, thrusting his hips up wantonly. The voice chuckles and that is almost John's undoing. He opens his eyes (not sure when he closed them) and sees Sherlock's face above him, wonder shining in the pale eyes.

"What?" John grins.

"Did I... did I do this-" he points at John's cock, now straining at his trousers "-just with my voice?" He looks like a child on Christmas discovering he's gotten every single thing he asked for. Even more so when John nods in the affirmative. A wicked grin spreads across his face. "Well then," he says as he leans forward, mouth next to John's ear again. "Let's just see how far we can take this." He thrusts his slim hips up against John and lets out a little puff of pleasure.

The grip John has on Sherlock's forearms loosens as he starts seeing stars from the friction of cock on cock. Gently, Sherlock takes John's arms and spreads them across the back of the couch, a wrist clutched gently in each spidery hand. Sherlock circles his hips and scootches higher, so that he's effectively sitting on John's cock.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck, Sherlock..." John groans as Sherlock rocks slightly on top of John's cock, nuzzling it with his arse.

"God you sound gorgeous." Sherlock whispers, pressing kisses along John's jaw line and up to his lips. For a moment he hesitates, but John is straining upward, desperate for Sherlock's lips on his. The detective obliges, plundering his doctor's mouth with his talented tongue. Both men are panting when Sherlock breaks away and his thrusts are coming faster now, more erratic. "I want to see you, John. I want to watch your cock when you come. You're so beautiful when you come. Let me watch." Sherlock begs. John nods, his pupils taking up most of the glorious blue of his eyes. Immediately, Sherlock tears his hands away from Johns wrists and attacks the zip on his trousers. In moments, Sherlock is lifting John's hot, engorged cock from the confines of his boxers and strokes it lovingly. John grits his teeth and lets his head loll back on the back of the couch.

"Now now, John, I want you to watch as well." Sherlock murmurs in his deepest, smokiest voice and John shudders violently. He wrenches his head up, eyes blazing with lust. They maintain eye contact as Sherlock pulls and strokes John's cock, rubbing the head with the precum leaking from the tip. John thrusts his hips up, and Sherlock keeps up a steady stream of filth into John's ear.

"Christ your cock feels so good in my hands. It's so gorgeous, I love it so much, I can't wait to see you come for me, on me -" And with a shot, John does just that - with a final thrust upwards, John's semen explodes out of him, arcing up slightly to fall on John's stomach, then spilling out onto Sherlock's hand. Sherlock strokes him through his orgasm, practically purring praise. Without warning, John heaves them both off of the couch onto the floor, Sherlock underneath him.

Before the detective can do anything, John has his trousers open and down around his hips and his cock in his mouth.

"FUCK JOHN YES." Sherlock yelps, both hands on the back of John's head, pushing him farther down. John takes Sherlock's cock into his throat, gagging slightly, then fondling his balls in just the way Sherlock likes. Now John has a finger inside Sherlock's arse, rubbing along the prostate without mercy. Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut and bellows John's name again as he comes in the doctor's mouth. John swallows every drop, sucking slightly as Sherlock comes down from the high. When the aftershocks are over, John sits up on his knees, grinning lewdly down at his -his- detective, looking thoroughly debauched.

"What are you grinning so moronically about?" Sherlock asks, but without any real bite.

"Solved the case, haven't you?"

"Obviously. Go make some tea." Sherlock grins at his lover, who kisses him then makes sure to lean all of his weight on his shoulder as he levers himself up onto his feet and into the kitchen. 


End file.
